


how do i save you from the mess you're in

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Second Person, Post-Neutral Route - King Papyrus Ending, Sex Used As A Coping Mechanism, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Soul Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:51:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks to the side, then back at you. There are dark circles under his eye sockets. “Please,” he says quietly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how do i save you from the mess you're in

 

You’re finishing up the paperwork when Papyrus shows up in the doorway. It’s already past midnight, and he’s in his pajamas; he was exhausted after the day, and you told him to go to bed a few hours ago. But he’s standing there now, wringing his hands and shifting on his feet nervously. You put the pen down with a small sigh before turning to look at him properly.

“I can’t sleep,” he tells you after a brief moment.

You know what that means, and can’t help but smile sadly. (Sometimes you think that maybe you should’ve said no the first time, or say it _now_ , but you can’t do that to him.) “You want me to help?”

He looks to the side, then back at you. There are dark circles under his eye sockets. “Please,” he says quietly.

You both took one of the guest rooms in the castle when he was chosen as the new King and you moved out of Snowdin. The rooms are huge, and you will probably never feel like you’re _home_ here but that’s hardly important. Papyrus waits for you to settle down on the bed before coming to sit beside you. His shoulders are tense, and his fingers twitch as he touches your arm slightly. He’s trembling.

You move slowly, partly because you don’t want to rush anything and partly because you’re afraid he’ll break under your touch (you’re not sure he _won’t_ ). It never seems to get easier no matter how many times you do this; it’s still a struggle to keep your hands steady when you unbutton his pajama shirt and let it fall off his shoulders, revealing his clavicles and slender ribs, or when you help him out of his pants. His soul is already pulsating softly inside his chest, and you can feel his growing arousal.

Papyrus lies back as you lean forward over him and watches you with dim eyelights, with a silent plea written across his features. For a moment you just look at each other, and you’re not sure whether you’re waiting for a confirmation or for him to change his mind. But then his hand tugs at your shirt, and you shift slightly to make it easier for him to pull it over your head.

He lets out a shaky exhale and arches into your touch when you brush your fingers over his spine. You keep stroking it lightly, up and down and up again until he’s shivering beneath you breathlessly, face flushed. He inches his legs apart, and you move lower, dragging your hand between his femurs and rubbing soothing circles into his pelvis. You keep going for a while, and Papyrus huffs, hips rolling ever so slightly to follow your movements.

His own hand comes to rest on your hipbone then, fiddling with the waistband of your pants. There’s the question neither of you ever say out loud _(Is this okay?)_ , and you really don’t have an answer to that. But you kick off your pants anyway - they land somewhere on the floor - and let Papyrus trace his fingertips along the outlines of your pelvic bones.

“I need you to -” His voice cracks. “I need you to believe in me.”

It’s all _wrong_ \- how his voice is so quiet and husky, how your souls are reaching out to each other; the way he’s looking at you now, hurt and scared, begging. He should never have to look like that. Not him.

You graze your teeth tentatively across his cervical vertebrae, and he gasps, tilts his head to give you better access. His other hand scrapes at your shoulder blade and the other curls around your ribs, not pulling but just resting there. The grip tightens when you grind your pelvis down against his.

God, it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t. (But what else can you do?)

The bed creaks slightly when you start moving together, sheets shifting and rustling under you. It’s the only sound apart from his panting and your shallow breaths, and the glow of your souls is almost enough to light up the otherwise dark room. Papyrus groans and runs his fingers over the back of your skull, gently pulling you down and pressing your teeth together.

“Please, I want to, I want to feel you,” he pants against your mouth.

You both moan at the same time as your souls resonate and intertwine, warmth and pleasure flooding through your bones. You pick up the pace, and he throws his arm up to cover his eyes when you thrust a bit harder.

You clench the sheets to support your weight and move your free hand back to his spine, stroking and petting, before jerking your hand down the length, repeating the motion a few times. He whines loudly and presses your rib cages together, desperation clear in his movements. Blue and white and orange drip from your chests, down your bones and onto the sheets, and your orgasm hits you without a warning.

Papyrus keeps thrusting against you, harsher and harsher to the point it’s almost painful, and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s crying. His body shakes as he weeps into your shoulder, overstimulated, moans and sobs falling out of his mouth.

“Please, I can’t, I can’t, I…” He lowers his head into the crook of your neck and groans, holding you even tighter. “P-please, Sans, I, ah, I-I need to…”

You reach down to his sacrum and start rubbing, tenderly at first, then increasing the pace. “C’mon, bro, you have to relax…” He’s panting so hard it almost sounds like he’s hyperventilating, and _God, you can’t bear to see him like this._ “Paps, c’mon, you can do it, just let go, it’s okay -”

A choked sob tears from his throat as he climaxes, shuddering violently and holding onto you like his life depends on it. You stay like that for a moment, just embracing each other and catching your breath.

He pushes you off of him, just a bit, and sits up, rubbing the corner of his eye socket; there are dry tear tracks down his cheekbones. He’s still a little out of breath. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

You’ve been preparing yourself for that question for a long time but it still manages to catch you off guard. He stares at you and you stare back, frozen in place and unable to say anything. He takes your silence as a yes and turns his head away, smiling humorlessly. The look on his face is even worse than before. (You didn’t think it was possible for you to hate yourself any more but apparently you were wrong.)

“I kind of figured,” he says then, breaking the silence once more. “It was just when the human… I mean, Undyne wouldn’t… She wouldn’t leave without telling me. Or at least she would keep in touch.”

The thing is, you could usually make things better when something was wrong. When he got sick as a child, you could warm up milk for him and make him soup, tuck him in. You could prepare puzzles with him if he got lonely. If you fucked up, you could just apologize, make a few of those stupid jokes that he secretly likes even though he acts like he hates them. But this, you can’t _fix_ this. “Pap -”

“It’s _fine_ , Sans, just…” He swallows, stops himself from raising his voice. You really wish he didn’t: it’s far from fine. “Everyone is counting on me to, to make the right choices, but I don’t…” He looks so small suddenly, lost and afraid, and your soul aches. “I didn’t _want_ this, I’m so scared and I-I don’t know what to d-do…”

You lie down next to him and pull him close, stroking your fingers across his cheekbone. He takes your other hand and squeezes tight, letting your legs get tangled together. You can still feel his soul beating anxiously. Brokenly.

“I miss her so much,” Papyrus mumbles, voice thick and wavering. You know he’s crying again. “I just - I just want her b-back, them all back, so e-everything… everything could be like it used to…”

You press a small kiss to his frontal bone and close your eyes. This was exactly what you wanted to avoid in the first place. “I know. I’m sorry, Pap. But it’s… it’s all gonna be okay. We’ll figure this out together.”

(Deep down you know it’s just empty promises over and over. But, maybe, if you keep saying it long enough, you’ll actually start to believe it yourself.)

He’s silent for so long you think he’s fallen asleep. But then he takes a deep breath and caresses the base of your spine, fingers brushing against it lightly, hesitantly. His breathing has evened out, so you just focus on that, wait for him to say something.

“Together,” he repeats.

“Yeah.” You try to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Together.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> ~~i dunno man i think i'll just go to sleep and wake up after two months~~


End file.
